Sunday, March 22, 2015

Part Two: Rumbling into a Mosquito Forest

By Conor King Devitt

After waiting at the San Cristobal airport for an hour or
so, we hopped in a truck taxi and rumbled 45 minutes across a winding dirt road
to the center of the island, dense tree foliage and huge, leafy plants lining
the edges on either side (if you didn’t guess, that’s foreshadowing). The white
truck climbed partway up the slope of San Cristobal’s volcano. It was the heart
of the forest.

We were heading to a nonprofit volunteer camp called Jatun
Sacha. Its focus was on habitat reforestation. Hardy volunteers and even
hardier full-time employees planted constructive vegetation, cut back invasive
weeds and lived simply, enjoying time spent not working with hot meals and
hammock-based naps.

The volunteers’ primary enemy was a nasty plant known in
Spanish as Mora, otherwise referred to as the common blackberry bush. Mora has devastated
San Cristobal, destroying habitats and making it difficult for farmers to plant
homegrown crops. The camp’s administrator, Lidia, informed us (through a
translator) that the bush had covered 70 percent of the island’s landscape less
than 20 years ago. Organizations like Jatun Sacha and agencies like the
Galapagos National Park have reduced that percentage, but it is still very
prevalent.

Jatun Sacha was the end of the road, and its volunteers represented
the front lines of attack against Mora on the south central section of the
island. Volunteers would often spend their mornings and afternoons hacking at the
sharp-needled plant with machetes, mosquito-netted hats protecting their faces
from bites and their scalps from the harsh island sun.

It’s going to be hard
to write a story from up here.

The camp consisted of several open-air wooden and bamboo
structures. Our lodging was a two-story building with a large second-floor deck
and several partitioned rooms, each with a mosquito net-protected bed. That was
a necessity. The bugs swarmed with fury.

No work was required of us the first afternoon. One of the
regular workers, Chicho, led us on a creek-scaling hike through the forest. He
didn’t speak any English and we spoke even less Spanish, but we managed to
forge some communication.

Chicho, 26, lives at the camp with his partner, Fernanda,
20, and their giggling 2-year-old child, Mateo. Chicho has lived in the
Galapagos his whole life and has worked at Jatun Sacha for two months. He’d
been employed in several other hard labor fields previously, and his face and
stride portrayed the hard-nosed toughness of a man unafraid to sweat.

At one point during the hike, Chicho stopped and looked at an
overhanging tree. He saw something.

Raising his worn machete, he cut down a small, perched
guava. He sliced off the rounded ends and then split it in half, investigating
its contents. Not satisfied, he tossed it and cut another, repeating the
process. This one seemed to meet his requirements, and he handed the split
fruit to Marc and me.

“Guava,” he said.

It tasted amazing. I was snacking on guava probably around
30 steps earlier in the process than I ever had before.

We continued the tiring hike, sweat bleeding through my only
set of clothes (I was hopeful my bag would arrive the next morning). First we
trekked to a mid-sized waterfall and then a hillside vista, overlooking one
corner of the island. Sandwiched between draping clouds and milky blue ocean,
the horizon was indistinguishable and captivating.

On the way back Chicho once again paused, eyeing a piece of
fruit hanging from a tall tree to the left of the trail. This one was out of
reach. He turned to his right and sliced down a long branch from a different
tree. After skinning the branch of splintering limbs, he cut it into three
sections.

Fwoop! Chicho javelined the first piece of branch towards
the fruit, missing but shaking up the branch. Fwoop! The second one made
contact, almost severing it from its perch. Fwoop! As if predestined, the third
cleanly knocked the fruit from its limb. Satisfied, Chicho wordlessly tromped
off the trail and picked up the prize.

“Agua,” he said, pointing at the machete. I dribbled some of
the water out of my bottle and he spread it over the blade. Then he quartered
the fruit – a rotund, yellowish orange.

Again, he handed the contents to Marc and me. I handed a
section back to him.

“Here,” I said, laughing. “You’re the one who actually
deserves this.”

Smiling, he took the slice of orange and lifted it appreciatively
for a short second. Then he turned and continued hiking down the trail. In an
effort to not get left behind, Marc and I inhaled our sections – again, they
tasted amazing.

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About the Program

The Murrow Backpack Journalism project enlists smart, dedicated and curious student-journalists to travel into some of the world’s most remote regions to report on stories that count.

These student-journalists are eye-witnesses to world events. They are on-scene where and when the news is being made.

As a backpack journalist, students are outfitted with—and trained in the use of—the latest video, audio and web technology. They’re sent into the field to create television, radio, web and print news reports which are disseminated to broadcast and print organizations throughout the Pacific Northwest.